there is no question, i am tired, the kind of exhaustion you would refer to as world weary, but you always thought that sounded so pretentious, and in any case, no, this has more to do with living than ennui. ain't gonna be no chapbook come out of these trials and tribulations. no lawyering up or plea bargain for that matter. just, damn. i am how old? damn. even if i make it now, look at how old. there is more looking back than ahead, and it is awfully hard on the eyelids.
i have to say, i have been awfully tired of a co-worker telling me how many marathons he runs every saturday, so friday night, i had a couple of glasses of wine, and said to myself and no one in particular, all at once, 'do not stop until mile marker 10.' mile marker 10, of course, being the marker that is exactly 13.1 miles from point A, and therefore, a genuine marathon, unless i break down and hitchhike back home.
my knees are the body parts clearly looking for a new line of work, so i was a bit surprised when it was my ankle that went EXPLOSION at mile 10. and although my foot and tibia did their best impression of an ankle, it just wasn't the same, so whenever i saw humanoid shapes on the trail, i stopped to take photos, so that the racehorce supervisors wouldn't be called to put a misery ending bullet in my heart, which was already broke nonetheless.
why does everything difficult in my life remind me of love? tonight i compared it to a beautiful sickness, one whose symptoms make you long for a relapse, and in this pain there was longing. it is like a night of fighting, and when you crawl into bed when you are sure the other is asleep, and you crawl under the sheets and the wind, and the space between you is almost, but not quite, enough so that the fabric touches the mattress, and just enough so that your fingertips can reach a bit of bare skin, and you try to apologize through touch telepathy.
sometimes the nostalgia is constricting and barely forgivable.
ps thank you karl and dave for saying such cool things @ me. that is entirely cool and growth worthy.
12 comments:
Run is suck a fickle mistress isn't she? I had a 13.1 miles from hell on Sunday. My lungs of all things. Stunning post. I can see why Dave loves it so much.
(I lurked over post show.)
Running is just like life...you either run through the pain after your ankle explodes, or you stop running and wait for the vet with the syringe. By 'your ankle explodes' I mean 'eat undercooked chicken' and by 'the vet with a syringe' I mean 'the sweet release of death'.
nat, i am not sure if it is cycling or running that is my mistress. both are high maintenance, but running beats me up a bit more. running must be my wife.
sir, and by 'life' you must mean 'Church's'
Am I the only one who keeps thinking your blog name is "The Penis Mightier?" heh.
Running, yeah, so not my bag, baby. Unless I can run while in my recliner. Gotta keep my beer gut in shape.
"why does everything difficult in my life remind me of love?"
Um, because love is difficult. In case you didn't put that two and two together on your own. I'm here to help.
I really like that top photo, many of yours actually, as well as your writing.
Karl, you're not the only one. I added the spaces in my feed title, so I'd stop misreading it.
karl, wow, i need to use spaces more often. good thing i didn't go with my original idea, 'BETITLED'
e, that is the calculus of the human heart. i am no good at numbers.
claire, thank you! i rely on either the photos or the writing to bail me out of the mediocrity of the other.
Much more looking ahead to do, I just hope it's a pretty view. Wine helps.
jodie, wine does help, sadly, and hurtshurtshurts at the same time. it is the goggle effect, unfortunately, making my life seem so much prettier than 'tis.
brandon:
i like wine and chicken pot pie and it makes my bottom heavy so i run and run and run and the bottom doesn't change so i've decided to accept my pear shape as my fate and i'm grateful my husband likes a heart-shaped butt and . . .
oh! we were talking about you! what happened when you drank the wine? did the heavens part, did you hear thunder, or nothing? are you going to be able to find balance? i know nothing of that . . .
no, the heavens didn't part, it was strangely anticlimactic. i suck at being an alcoholic, that is for sure. i didn't wake up in a strange woman's bed with no recollection of my last memory being the uncorking of some evil bottle.
this morning, there was a great big bottle of wine open next to the coffee maker, and i didn't even take a sip. i feel like all my previous laments about MY DISEASE MY PROBLEM now seem a bit affected.
In an attempt to catch up*, all I can contribute is that if running is your wife, what a beautiful one you have, with all the stops and phototaking and pain and ass-watching and cliche yelling sideliners and joke inspiration and sweat and meters of swearing it off forever only to find your god damned body craving another go .
I have no husband; perhaps what I have needed all along is a wife.
*I may have intended this; isn't it all intentional somehow?
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